


Catharsis

by fairdeath



Category: Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Gender Non-Specific, Pet Names, Second POV, Second Person, Snuggling, petting, playing with hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairdeath/pseuds/fairdeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As you had awoken, for some reason you had felt uneasy; your mind started up immediately. So, you clean; but Mark has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

Cleaning has always been cathartic for you, particularly when you can shut off your mind by overpowering the loudness of your thoughts with repetitive motions. Which brings you to where you are now; still in your pyjamas, consisting of one of Mark’s shirts and your underwear, phone tucked into the hem of your underwear, earphones snug against your ears with music drifting through the buds to replace your racing thoughts with some sense of productivity – in this case: cleaning.

Mark had left early this morning to record, stirring you from sleep only enough to kiss your forehead and let you know he was heading out. Nodding with a small sigh, your hands blinding searched for his face, bringing his face back to yours so that you could slot your lips against his: morning breath or not. The natural progression of Mark’s domesticity had grown on you over time, appearing so effortlessly through your mannerisms and behaviours that you hadn’t realized until he had pointed out the contrast of your behaviours before cohabitating.

As you had risen from sleep later during the morning, for some reason you had felt uneasy; your mind started up as soon as you became consciously aware of the lack of Mark’s presence. It wasn’t unusual for him to be away working when you woke up, but for some reason it affected you more than usual this morning. On top of that, usually if he’d leave early he’d open the blinds for you for the sun to wake you, but this morning you awoke by your body’s needs only, meaning your internal clock would be off all day. Realigning yourself by performing repetitive activities like cleaning, and filling your mind with the sounds of upbeat music usually made you feel better, and so you’d decided the apartment would be realtor ready by the time Mark got home.

You’re just as weak as you look; you struggle to pull the couch out of the way in the living room to clean under it. After struggling with that, detach the television unit from the power and shove it aside, then tug on the coffee table, dragging it towards the kitchen. Rolling along behind you, the vacuum whines as it whirs back to life under your fingers, swallowing up the dust and dirt (as well as several hair pins that you could have easily saved) into its stomach. Noticing the distinct lack of music in your ears over the sound of the vacuum, you reach a hand down to your phone, turning up the volume of your playlist to replace your thoughts with the sound of your music.

Toeing the power button on the vacuum, you push it aside and reassemble the living room. Starting with the couch, you realize it’s a hell of a lot easier to push than pull it; maybe you should have done that beforehand. Hindsight helps no one, though. The television unit is next and it slips back into place easily, bar a couple of cords that catch and tangle themselves around a leg, and the last piece is the coffee table. Looking at the ground, you grasp the edge of the table and pull against it. It doesn’t move, despite you using as much force as you did to move it beforehand. You try again, closing your eyes as you bop your head to the music in your ears, hips swaying in time, but to no avail does it move. Confused, you knit your brows together and tug once more. Nothing. You open your eyes, looking up across the table. Mark was sitting cross legged on the table, smirking at you.

“Christ!” you screech, startled by his presence. When did he slip in? How did you not notice? You tug your earbuds from your head, white noise of the living room filling the gap. His laughter resonates throughout the apartment, cheeks flushed pink and toothy grin alight.

“Well that explains it,” you mutter, rolling your eyes at the man-child in front of you, hands on your hips. “Would you get off so that I can actually finish cleaning, please?” you ask of him, tugging on the table for emphasis.

“I’ll get off anytime for you, baby,” he jokes, grin wide and wicked. You ignore the tremor of heat that passes through you at the thought. He stumbles from the table gracelessly, white shirt rising over his hips, exposing the sliver of stomach you love so much, as he leans down to help you move the table. It slides easily; too easily. You watch him press his weight against the table as it jolts towards you. Squeaking at its impeding movement, you scamper out of the way. After slotting it back in place, he stands up, readjusting his shirt.

“Now, what’s wrong?” he asks, wrapping an arm around your waist. “This place is goddamn _spotless,_ so something has to be up,” he explains, pushing a piece of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. He looks to you, eyebrows turned up in worry. What did you ever do to deserve such an angel? Exhaling a breath, you wind your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest. Cleaning is cathartic, but it tires you out incredibly.

“Just stuff,” you reply, mumbling into his shirt. You inhale, filling your senses with him; home, grounding, safety. It shouldn’t help, but it does. He wraps his other arm around you, running his fingers lightly against your spine. You feel his head drop to yours, pressing a kiss to your hair.  

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asks against your hair, fingers moving to hold your waist. Nodding, you hug him closer for a moment before letting him go. He doesn’t let go, though. Mark drops an arm from your waist, bringing the other over to cover the expanse of your back.

He leads you to the couch, sitting by your side, hand unmoving from the small of your back as your guide. You reach behind you, gripping his wrist from between your body and the couch, pulling his hand to your thigh. Intertwining your finger with his from underneath his palm, you rub circles across the back of his hand, press your fingertip to the divot between his knuckles, trace along the tendons, walk across veins.

“Trying to memorise them for when I’m away, huh?” you hear him murmur from above you. You feel yourself smile at his ridiculousness. Who needs to remember them when you’ve got them most nights at your disposal? Regardless, you’re still going to do it. They’re nice; who’s going to hold it against you?

“’S Aladdin okay?” he asks you, more rhetoric than genuine question. He clearly had noted that you wouldn’t be paying attention, rather just soaking in the moment he’d given you; a clean apartment, tired bones, and the man who breathes comfort into your life. You nod, leaning against his shoulder, eyes closing. You feel him shuffle, and he pulls his hand from between yours. You feel your mouth pull into a frown, and hear his soft laughter echo in your ears.

Mark pulls his arm from under your head, and pushes himself away from you, pulling both his knees up onto the couch. You look up to him, confused. He holds his arms out to you, motioning for you to come towards him. Pushing yourself towards him, he leans back, lying down against the sofa. You follow him, draping yourself across his torso, wrapping your arms around his chest, lying your head against his pectorals. Following your motions, he wraps his arms around you; one hand pressing against the small of your back, the other placed on your hair, petting it slowly, lulling you into contentment.

Vaguely, you hear the Disney opening, but your eyes have already closed once more as you snuggle into his chest. He smells like home, safety, comfort. His hand strokes along your hair, moving locks over locks, like he’s braiding your hair with one hand. Obviously, it doesn’t enact more than moving your hair and washing calm over you, but that’s all its aim was.

You feel Mark lift his head, pressing a kiss to your head. He brings both his hands to your back and pulls you up a little further, letting your head fall into the space between his shoulder and neck. Hearing the first musical number begin in the background, Mark begins to hum along softly, lips pressed to your hair.

You smile softly, snuggling in closer to him, arms under his, hands against his shoulder blades. “Thank you,” you murmur into his neck, pressing a kiss to his skin.

He continues to hum, unphased by your comment, but he presses a kiss to your hair, voice unchanging.

“Love you,” he murmurs towards the end of the song. And boy, do you believe it here; snuggled into his chest, his arms holding you safe and sound.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a really bad week(s) [peace sign emoji] so I wrote this to help get it out of my system.  
> hmu with your thoughts/feelings on sappy markiplier. sappylier. markippy. markipuppy. mark as a dog. so lucy, basically.  
> god, i need sleep.


End file.
